Baby Can I Hold You
by rhygell
Summary: Kinda fluffy. Has been infected with 'sweet-dance fever'. SLASH ALERT!!! Ron's terribly jealous ... to what extent, exactly?
1. Baby Can I Hold You?

body {cursor: handwriting;} 

Baby Can I Hold You

"Don't worry Potter, I hate you, too," Draco Malfoy drawled in a sickly sweet voice. "I assure you that the feeling is more than mutual. Now," he snapped as he held Harry's left hand in his right, "cooperate or I'll bash your brains out." 

Harry Potter scowled. He was now at his seventh year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and all the seventh years were required to take dance lessons. Unfortunately enough, Gryffindor and Slytherin were learning together. As if that is not a problem enough, he was now paired with Malfoy. 

_Why the hell do we have to be with the Slytherin Boys?_ Harry thought sourly. 

Professor Sinistra's voice floated to his conscious. 

_ "Boys, over the side. Girls, pick out your partners ... Yes, we thought it would be best learning seperately unless you know the right moves ... Now line up ..."_

_Right moves, my ass,_ Harry thought broodingly. _It would have been better being paired up with a Slytherin girl than with_ Malfoy. He shuddered, and a small grin quirked at the corners of Harry's lips as he imagined dancing with Millicent Bulstrode. 

A very _big_ mistake it was, to lose his concentration. He trodded on Malfoy's foot as he caught him off-step. 

Draco hissed under his breath, cursing his damn luck. 

"Why, Potter," he said through clenched teeth, "that from all the riffraff of the Gryffindors, do I have to be partnered with a blundering oaf like you?" 

Harry gritted his teeth. "I don't fancy this as much as you do, Malfoy." 

Nursing his foot, Draco sat on the floor for the while being. When he took a little longer than quite expected, the raven-haired young man kneeled next to him. "You alright, Malfoy? It's nothing serious, is it?" 

The blond glared at him, glaring. "Shut _up_, Potter." 

Harry looked annoyed. "I'm just trying to help." 

"Try helping by getting a right foot. You won't dance with me with two left ones." 

"Quit rubbing it in, will you, Malfoy!" Harry told him off irritably. "If this damned thing was not required, I assure you that I'd not been here in the first place." 

Draco stood up gingerly. "Well, what are you still doing there, Potter, we'd have to be able to do this before the week ends!" He roughly grabbed him by the forearm and hauled him to his feet. He operated the (surprisingly, since it was Draco's) Muggle CD Player that they had been practicing with, and pressed "Play". Soft music began to play; Draco took Harry's right hand and placed it on his waist, and held Harry's left hand. "Now dance, Potter," he ordered. His gray eyes flashed dangerously. "A girl doesn't lead." 

Harry remembered his embarrassing experience on the Yule Ball in his fourth year, where he had dated, out of desperation, Parvati Patil. She was the one enthusiastic about opening the ball that night and Harry had let her lead the dance. 

"Shut up, Malfoy," he said half-heartedly, and tightened his hold on Draco's right hand. 

He took a step right, and Draco moved with him at ease. They revolved slowly on the spot, and Harry could now sort of see what Professor Sinistra had been rambling about them being easier learnt if they were to be paired with someone of the different House, but the same gender. Dancing had kept dueling at bay, at least, between him and Draco, and the thought of winning points for their own Houses kept them from giving each other bodily harm. 

_Okay, right foot, back, left foot, close ..._ His thoughts keep getting distracted. But nonetheless, he was dancing a lot better than he was the last time. He closed his eyes again, aware of his glasses slipping off his nose, and concentrated. _Left foot, forward, right foot, back and close. Right foot, side, twist and close ..._

"Open your eyes," Draco whispered. As if not in control of his own body, Harry _did_ open his eyes, and found them staring at his partner's silvery pair. 

So here we stand, on our secret place  
The sound of the crowd so far away  
You take my hand and it feels like home  
We both understand, its where we belong ...

So how could I say, do I say goodbye?  
We both have our dreams, we both want to fly  
So let's take tonight to carry us through  
The lonely times ... 

Harry blinked. No. He was _supposed_ to dance, not go sentimental on the lyrics of the song he was to dance to! He took a deep breath and tried again, remembering that he was to look at Draco straight in the eye. But doing that made his heart constrict ... was it a jinx? No, Harry was positive it wasn't. And the song wasn't helping one bit, and neither did the Slytherin lad who had this totally husky voice ... 

"You're to gaze back at your dance partner, Potter," Draco was now saying to him. "That's, rule three, I think, on that ancient ettiquette book on dancing." 

"Oh?" he was mildly interested. "What's rule one and two?" 

The blond smirked, still swaying in time to the music, but giving freedom to Harry in steering them. "Oh, rule one's: _'Thou shall always conduct the proper stance'_ while rule two is," his eyes glinted, tone of voice innocent. "_'The gent shall always lead.'_" He grinned. 

Narrowing his eyes, "_That_ is _not_ true, Malfoy." 

"Hm ... " A slight twist to the left. "Try telling those fools who wrote the damn book." 

"Whatever." He shook his head, ebony locks eternally untidy made more untidier. He was finding it harder and harder to concentrate, with Draco's body pressed so close to his ... his beryl orbs penetrating through the usual calm and contempt of those silver-slate spheres ... seeking ... for what, he didn't know. 

... So let's take tonight and never let go  
While dancing we'll kiss like there's no tomorrow ...

_Yes, kiss him ..._ Harry lowered his face. **NO!**

"Gods, Potter, what has gotten into you?" Draco asked suspiciously. "You looked feverish ..." he took his arm off Harry's shoulder and brushed his bangs off his forehead revealing his scar. "You've got that pained, anorectic look, that Dilandau usually has when he's got chills -- my owl, Dilandau." His forehead wrinkled in almost concern. "Chill out, Potter." 

Harry was still rather dizzy at Draco's touch, but was able to keep the rhythm of their bodies, never once missing the beat of the music. 

... As the stars sparkled down like a diamond ring  
I'll treasure this moment till we meet again

And no matter how far, or where you may be  
I'll just close my eyes, and you're in my dreams  
And there you will be, until we meet ... 

_Just a little more ... the song is about to end ... Hell, don't concentrate on how cute Draco looks! _

Cute? Draco? Draco Malfoy? 

"Take a deep, deep breath," Draco told him, releasing him of his grip. "You're too tense, Potter. Don't worry, just jerk it off -- you'd feel fine afterwards." 

"That came out sounding real bad, Malfoy." 

"Well. It's supposed to." Draco smiled smugly, then peered at him curiously. "Are you okay now?" 

"Never been better," Harry said dryly, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

"Good. We ought to get started. I don't fancy dancing until dawn." 

_Really?_ Harry found himself asking. _But do you fancy dancing_ with _me?_

"Come on," Draco said, a bit more forceful than he intended. "I'll lead this time." 

... Don't pretend you're sorry, I know you're not  
You know you've got the power to make me weak inside  
You leave me breathless, but it's okay  
'Coz you are my survival, now hear me say

I can't imagine life without your love  
And even forever don't seem like long enough

Everytime I breathe I take you in and my heart beats again  
Baby I can't help it, you keep me drowning in your love ...

* * *

Draco's mind was still whirling after what had happened. Sure, he and Harry had practiced for the Dance Exam they were taking this Saturday, but he hadn't counted on his feelings getting better of him! 

_I mean like, duh, isn't that so blatant?_ Draco thought, running his fingers through his blond tresses. _While we were dancing ..._

... Everytime I try to rise above, I'm swept away by love  
Baby I can't help it, you keep me drowning in your love

Come on and pull me under, cover me with dreams   
Love me mouth to mouth now, you know I can't resist  
'Coz you're the air that I breathe ...

_Oh God ... what is happening to me?!_

* * *

It was their second night of practice before the Practicals, and Harry, as Draco noted, was steadily getting a hang of dancing. He knows the moves now, more or less, and was a little bit less tense that he had been a week before, just when they started the Lessons. 

Had it only been a week and a few days? Draco had a hard time acknowledging that. It seems so long, but so fast ... like the time melts when they are dancing, but trickles in healthy dollops when they are apart ... 

_Oh, no. Not to those unhealthy thoughts again!_

Undeniably, though, he was starting to think of Harry more than often ... 

_It's Potter! Not Harry! And I refuse to state that I am thinking of the way his eyes sparkle, the way his hand grips mine, the way our bodies move together in sync ... Oh, crap._ This was were his thoughts take him everytime he remembers anything remotely about dancing. 

_Potter. Harry, Harry ... HarryHarryHarryHarryHarry ..._

"Been waiting long, Malfoy?" was Harry's greeting to him as he stepped inside the room they had been using, a hidden chamber in the fouth floor, next to a secret passage to the Charms Classroom. 

His heart started thudding wildly. Those eyes seemed to pierce him, straight to his heart ... 

"We'd better start then, should have gotten this before Saturday ..." Draco said almost awkwardly, but still in regal indifference. "Come on, Potter, I'm not waiting for eternity." 

"You're being an obnoxious git, you know that?" Harry gritted his teeth as he stepped up close to Draco. He put his hand on the blond's shoulder, but he slapped it away. 

"_No_ Potter," Draco snapped. "You lead." 

Harry scowled, knowing at what Draco was getting at. He wasn't really a master dancer, especially in leading a dance. Everytime, Draco had led perfectly, Harry faltering. So he really couldn't argue with the point. But it didn't lessen his irritability at Draco's talent of shoving it to his face. 

_Deal with it,_ he chidded himself. _Draco is doing you a favor in even meeting you at night just so that you would learn. _

Draco could just leave you now, you know that, don't you? his mind continued chastisizing him. _Instead, he's letting you have this favor. So just shut up and follow._

So he shrugged, placed his hand on his partner's waist, drawing them closer. Grasping Draco's right hand in his left, he led the dance. 

... Saying 'I love you' is not the words I want to hear from you  
It's not that I want you not to say but if you only knew  
How easy it could be to show me how you feel

More than words is alll you have to do to make it real  
Then you wouldn't have to say that you loved me  
'Coz I'll already know ... 

Harry _was_ getting better. Now, all he had to do was to concentrate on the steady swaying beat, and not on the relative nearness of them, nor the very conscious hand resting on the small of the blond's back. A few inches lower and ... 

... 'Coz more than words is more than  
What you say, it's things you do ... 

_Kiss him. Now. Let him know what you feel, to what extent. _

No. He wouldn't like it, it's hopeless, I am hopeless. 

Kiss him. 

"Malfoy," Harry tried softly, cursing silently at the hint of desperation in his tone. Throwing caution to the winds, "Draco ... listen to me." 

A flit of surprised disbelief on having been called on the first name was at play in his silver-gray eyes. His mouth parted slightly, questionning, beckoning him to continue. 

"I -- uh -- I -- " Harry stuttered. Pursing his lips, Draco regarded him through narrowed eyes and bit back a rather obstrusive remark. Feeling the warmth on his neck creep up to his cheeks, he shook his head, sable brushing gold. 

"Have it your way, Potter," Draco snapped. Jerking his head irritably, "What do you think you're doing?" 

Beet-red, Harry wrenched himself away, breaking contact. He hadn't realized that his forehead was resting upon Draco's. Cheeks burning, he mumbled an apology. 

He sighed impatiently. "Let's start this again. One more of your quirks, Potter ..." 

Harry, who didn't trust his voice or mouth at the instant, nodded mutely. 

"Sorry" is all that you can't say  
Years've gone by and still  
Words don't come easily  
Like "Sorry", like "Sorry"

"'Forgive me' is all that you can't say," Harry was singing softly, almost inaudibly. Draco took notice of this, though, but was hesitant to break his partner's reverence. 

"Years've gone by and still words don't come easily like 'Forgive me', 'Forgive me' ..." 

"But you can say, 'Baby -- Baby can I hold you tonight?' Baby, if I told you the right words, in the right time, you'd be mine." Draco was now singing with Harry. Subconsciously, Harry tightened his hold on Draco's waist, pressing his body almost unbearably closer to his. He responded by putting his head in the crook of the brunette's neck. 

"I love you" is all that you can't say  
Years've gone by and still  
Words don't come easily  
Like "I love you"

"I love you," Harry murmurred, nothing more than a whispered breath, the same time Draco raised his eyes to meet his green ones, half-lidded with nostalgia. 

"But you can say, 'Baby -- Baby can I hold you tonight?'" Draco continued, angling his head so that they were barely a couple of centimeters away. Their lips were brushing as they sang softly, their bodies never leaving the soft swaying movement that was their dance. 

Harry's eyes snapped open at the profound contact. _This must be a dream,_ he thought dizzily, drowning in the blond's tender voice, honeyed like his silvery hair, uttering words of affection. _He can't be feeling the same way I do ..._

"Baby if I told you the right words, at the right time, you'd be mine ... " 

Harry couldn't take anymore of it. Before the line was completely sung, his tongue had already delved deep within Draco, seeking, wanting. 

Surprised was hardly an understatement on what Draco felt, but he didn't waste anymore time responding to the fervor of Harry's mouth. Moments later, the harmonious rhythm was abandoned in place of ardourous intimacy. 

"Please tell me to stop," Harry told him as he broke off contact, verdant eyes downcast. He couldn't look at him. Not that he was afraid of what he'll find, but of what he _would not_ find in those silvery orbs. 

"Why would I want to?" he replied, voice coy. Harry looked at him in surprise, caught in a kiss. When Draco pulled back, he continued. "I like you." 

"But you don't love me," Harry told him, averting his gaze, unwilling to meet Draco's eyes. Those slate-gray orbs ... he must have been lying, toying with him like he often does to any other person that comes in his way. Come on. This _was_ Draco Malfoy. Why would he chose someone like him, his rival, his archenemy, to love? There are lots of other people ... why him? 

"You really are a dumb git, Potter," Draco reprimanded him, though his tone was gentle. He nipped rather sharply at the exposed portion of Harry's collarbone. "Why would I even be with you at this time of the night, teaching you to dance, and kiss you right in the middle of it, when I don't love you?" Emphasizing his point, Draco met Harry's mouth again. 

With no vexation, Harry responded readily to the kiss. Their tongues slowly entwined amid the tasty and warm wetness. Lips pressing gently, the tip of their tongues fondling and exploring in sensuous widening circles around each other. 

Breathless with desire and passion, they both drew back, faces flushed. 

"I think we better practice more now. Didn't meet up with you for a snog session, Potter." 

"Hm? D'you reckon?" With that, Harry flicked his tongue over Draco's chin lightly, sending shivers up and down his spine. 

Feigning surprise, the blond replied, "Good notion ..." his eyes glinted with a different emotion than he was used to see in him. "But Gryffindors ... ?" 

"Then I'll guess I just have to change your mind over that," Harry whispered huskily. Pinning Draco on the wall by his frame, he leaned forward, hands caressing, roaming freely. Unprompted movements, as if in one smooth motion, were exchanged between the two of them. 

"Wait," Harry said breathlessly, two hours later. His face was tinged with pink. He hastily scrambled to where his shirt and robes were cluttered at the floor. "Filch'll be patrolling here at the fourth floor by this hour. He shouldn't see us." 

"Fine," Draco commented huffily, straightening the collar of his school robes. He flashed him a sultry look. "Then we'll just look for another room to start all over again ..." 

"Pervert." 

"So speaks the Boy Who --" 

Draco was cut off by Harry who grabbed his arm and almost dragged him around the corner. "Let's get out of here. Now." 

They disappeared behind a statue, just as when soft mewling can be heard at the corridor. 

* * *

"Argh, my foot hurts where Millicent Bulstrode trodded on it ..." 

"I would've suggested to go back to the Tower, but it's Harry's turn," Hermione Granger whispered to Ron Wealey as they were watching Professors McGonagall and Sinistra conversing at on end of the Trophy Room, where their Practicals were held. 

It is already Saturday night. Ron and Hermione were now waiting patiently for Harry's turn to dance; they being one of the first who had finished early. 

"Harry's been practising a lot," Ron commented. He nodded off to where Draco and Harry were standing side by side, apparently listening to McGonagall. "Hope he does well --" 

She nodded. She had noticed Harry's absences in the common room since Wednesday night, as he had said, to practise with Draco, but Hermione was sure that there was something into it that she couldn't quite place. Ron told her that it was just Harry's nerves or something but she knew what she kept on seeing. Harry seemed to be glacing over the Slytherin Table at the Great Hall frequently, fidgety whenever Potions and Care of Magical Creatures, shifty when Ron talks constantly of the Slytherins especially Draco Malfoy ... 

She glanced at Ron. He didn't seem to notice whatever her qualms were about. She knew that he would go ballistic if she voiced it out ... 

But it did look like it, didn't it? Hermione felt something slightly different from Harry when he arrived at the common room yesterday at 2:30 in the morning -- a glow that radiated from within. If she knew better, she would've betted that ... 

_It's absurd. Impossible._

Hermione snapped out of her reverie when she heard Sinistra addsressing the boys. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, to the center, please." 

"Couldn't find a Slytherin girl," Ron snorted. "Didn't reckon why settle for a Slytherin fag." 

"Mr. Potter first." Ron smirked. 

Music started on the background. _So Harry'll lead,_ Hermione thought. 

Tonight we'll dance  
I lay my life in your hands  
We take the floor  
Nothing is forbidden anymore

_Harry's better than he was before,_ Hermione noted. 

Don't let the world in outside  
Don't let this moment go by  
Nothing can stop us tonight

Bailamos, let the rythym take you over  
Bailamos, te quiero amor mio  
Bailamos, wanna live this life forever  
Bailamos, te quiero amor mio, te quiero 

_Oh my god,_ Hermione gasped. It was ... fascinating, the way that they moved, in synchrony. _Could it be ... _

Love? 

Tonight I'm yours  
We can make it happen I`m so sure  
Now I`m letting go  
There is something I think you should know

_I can't be mistaken. It had to be._ Hermione shook her head in wonder. _Harry's in love ... with Draco Malfoy. The boy who everyone loves to despise is the one Hary's head-over-heels for._ She swallowed hard. _How could he deal with this? Malfoy is Ron's worst enemy!_

It looked as though Harry didn't give a damn about anything at the moment, though, just that he was dancing with Draco Malfoy. 

I won't be leaving your side  
We're gonna dance through the night  
I wanna reach for the stars

"Amazing," Ron whispered. "Is it just me, or is Harry really that incredible in dancing?" 

_It's not just you, Ron,_ Hermione said silently. _Only not to the degree that you suspect._

Tonight we dance  
Like no tomorrow  
If you will stay with me  
Te quiero, mi amor

"Malfoy's next," Ron informed her sourly. "Just hope that he falls flat on his face ..." 

_I wouldn't bet on it, Ron,_ Hermione thought, remembering the graceful movements Draco had been displaying. 

Now all my hopes and all my dreams are suddenly reality  
You've opened up my love to feel  
A kind of love that's truly real  
A guiding light that'll never fade  
There's not a thing inlife that I would ever trade  
For the love you give it won't let go  
I hope you'll always know

You are my everything  
Nothing your love would bring 

_Top marks, for sure._ She smiled, then shrugged. _True love._

Ron glanced at her suspiciously, noticing for the first time the fascinated expression she was donning on the dancing couple in front of them. And he finally saw it. 

Harry ... and Malfoy -- an item? 

My life is yours alone  
The only love I've ever known ... 

He gritted his teeth forcefully. _Not if I can help it ..._

And the expression in his face was enough to explain that Ron would stick up with what he wants, to any extent. 

He banged his fist into a cupped palm. "Enjoy while you can, Malfoy." There was a glint in his eye. "Harry's mine. Only mine."   
  
  
... tbc ...  
Owari!!! 2:29 AM 02/17/2002 


	2. All or Nothing

Part 2 - All or Nothing

Everything turns for the better ... for a certain Gryffindor.  
  
WARNING: bitchy!Ron, suicidal!Draco, insane!Draco  
  
_I changed Ron's image here a bit. Now, he has straight, chin-length red hair that's braided on the sides ... if you saw Legolas's get-up at the Fellowship of the Ring movie, you'll get what I mean. It won't be relevant until the next parts. _(-_-')

*Chibi_ means mini or small, for the guys who forgot their Jap._ ^^   
  


* * *

  
Ron Weasley skulked the corridors of Hogwarts Castle that dank February afternoon. He sighed, and was just about to turn, when he saw the object of his concern emerging fresh from Qudditch Practice. 

"Harry," he greeted him, smiling. 

"Ron." He smiled back, though Ron could see that he was rather preoccupied; he kept looking at his watch. "Look, I need to get going -- work on the Manticore research at the library ..." 

He wrinkled his nose. "But we had manticores last year for Care of Magical Creatures, didn't we?" Ron argued. "Good thing Hagrid wasn't fired when it rampaged ..." 

It might just be his imagination, but he thought he saw his best friend blush. "Uh -- it was for Defense Against the Dark Arts." He shrugged. "I kept on asking about dueling with wizards wielding fire that Lupin made me write an essay. Two rolls of parchment." 

"Two rolls of parchment?!" 

Harry's tone was rueful. "I suppose it had to do something the _wedding_ I was pressing him when I was asking about the pyro-wizards thing ..." 

"Remus and Siriu -- ?!" 

"Not to loud, Ron!" Harry hissed. Ron continued, voice lowered. "Remus and Sirius have plans ...?" 

He nodded. "Since Pettigrew had been caught and apprehended, in a few weeks time, Sirius would be free." He clapped a hand on Ron's shoulder. "So, see you later, gotta go!" He turned and was about to go down the stairs. A pair of blue eyes narrowed. "Wait." 

"Huh?" Ron had grabbed Harry's hand and they went in a hidden corridor beside the History of Magic classroom. 

"I have a big problem," the redhead said abruptly. 

Harry's impatient expression softened in a concerned one. "Yeah?" 

"I need you to kiss me." 

His jaw dropped. "What?!" 

Ron held him firmly by the shoulders, almost desperately gazing into his green eyes. "I don't know what's happening to me. It's ... it's ..." He took a shaky breath for effect. "Dean. Him ... and Parvati. They were at the common room this afternoon, arguing." To himself, he added, _Big surprise there._

"Uh-huh?" Harry glanced discreetly at his wristwatch, though not enough that Ron wouldn't notice the slight movement. His eyes flashed. 

"Parvati was saying that there wasn't anything wrong with her and Lavender going out while she's dating Dean ..." 

He raised an eyebrow, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "So what are you getting at?" 

Ron tucked his scarlet hair behind his ear. "I only want to know ... if what Parvati was saying does makes sense in real life, and not just a theory, as what Dean keeps letting on ..." 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, would you?" Harry said as he held up a hand. "Parvati _is_ going out with Dean while she's getting it on with Lavender?" Ron nodded. "And you need to kiss some guy, since you have a gut feeling that you'd end up like that? That you'd develop for a someone else while you have Hermione?" 

His fingers twitched, the only visible betrayal of his composure. "Precisely." _Buy it, buy it, you have to buy it ..._

"Big problem, that is." Blowing his bangs from his forehead, Harry shrugged. "Okay. I mean, if that's what you really want." 

"Yep, I'm sure," his voice was casual, albeit serious. "It wouldn't hurt ... would it?" 

At those words, though doubtful, Harry pulled him closed and kissed him, deliberate, giving the redhead time to adjust, while trying to maintain the image that he hadn't kissed a guy before. All was going well. Ron held his face in his cupped palms, pressing them closer. What he only needs to do now was not to think of Draco ... not to imagine that it was his mouth on his, his tongue probing inside; the taste of citrus ... 

It was a relief that Ron pulled back just in time that he did. He grasped his wrist convulsively, almost hysterically, looking at the time. _Damn it, I'm late! Draco's gonna kill me!_

"Thanks, Harry," Ron tried his best to be cheerful as he watched his best friend panic. "Didn't do a thing for me. Guess won't have problems like Parvati's, would I?" 

When he kept silent, mouthing like a goldfish, staring at his wristwatch, Ron nudged him. "Hey, Harry ... you need to be going, don't you? I'll see you later at the Great Hall." With a last, "thanks" and faint strand of something that sounded like "oh god, I'm late", he followed him with his blue eyes as Harry went down the stairs, snapping out of his hysteria. 

"Hasta la vista, baby." Ron smirked smugly.

* * *

Draco seethed as he paced behind foreboding rows of bookshelves near the Restricted Section in the Library. He had been in this state for the past fifteen minutes, pacing between narrow shelves, muttering to himself. 

_I can't believe it,_ he thought, snorting, obviously indignant. _He told me to see him here after Gryffindor Quidditch Practice. He said he'd come early. Damn that stupid, pathetic, indolent git ..._

Out of sheer frustration and boredom, he grabbed a book and started leafing on it. He flicked randomly at the pages when at one point, something made his heart skip a beat. 

It was actually the book he had told Harry about a few days ago. A wave of memories made Draco smile. He checked the copyright page; it was originally published at the times of the Babylonian regime (_I knew it was ancient_, Draco mused.) but was reprinted and edited by Hibiscus Samba, whoever that person was, just in this decade. 

He ran a finger down the page; almost brand new, though dusty. _Chapter XI - How Muggle Songs Affect the Mood of the Dance_. 

In spite of himself, he grudgingly took the book to a table, sat down, and started to read. 

Introduction:  


If there had been any magic that Wizarding Folk felt unmanaged, or rather, not quite achieve to its maximum capacity, it was music. Centuries of extensive research had proven that Muggles, actually, were the ones who incorporated the culture of music ...

"Yadda, yadda, boring, yadda," Draco muttered. He skimmed a few paragraphs until one caught his attention.

Muggle love songs, it seems, have a lot of impact in the dancing culture of the Magical World. It may bring forth any unwanted, unexpected, and unlooked for emotions that need not to be articulated, from simply listening to them, much more if dancing the waltz or any other kind of 'slow dance' as the Muggles themselves call it. So at some instances, like an emotional get-together, Muggle songs are likely more to be played. Indeed, it had been rumored that Albus Dumbledore, current Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, listens to Staying Alive every morning, claiming that it improves his self-esteem.

The blond boy smirked. "Interesting." Suddenly, he scowled, annoyed at himself. _What the hell does this mean?_ Draco narrowed his gray eyes, running his hands through his blond hair. The sudden image of Dumbledore dancing _Staying Alive_ left his mind. It was replaced by the familiar image of himself dancing with Harry Potter in the Trophy Room just last Saturday. The feeling it invoked in him was ethereal, and for some strange reason, he found it irritating. _Why am I believing this damn book, anyway? It isn't possible that what we felt ... was just some effect of dancing to Muggle music, is it?_ "Fat chance," he scorned. Nevertheless, he stood up, chair making a screeching noise that gained him a patented scowl from Madam Pince, and went out of the Library. 

_No. It isn't possible._ An image of Harry's face flashed in his mind. _He said he loved me. It wasn't just the song ... I'm sure of it. The meaning wasn't just ..._

In his mind popped a chibi*-Draco lounging on a cushioned marble couch, wearing a not-so-modest toga. It took a bunch of grapes and took one in his mouth.

_Oh, but little Harry pet is late for our meeting, isn't he? He's only kidding you ... he's just toying with you ..._ It gave him a disdainful glance. _And your non-existent feelings for him._

At one point, he might have believed it. But as he was right now, looking for Harry Potter in the halls of Hogwarts that particular day, it had been preposterous. Yes, he's dumb, he's naive, but in this kind of case, he doesn't lie just to get revenge, or to play with somebody.

_Why shouldn't he?_ the chibi-Romanesque Draco piped up. _After all that you did to him?_

Yes. Draco might, would, hurt people's feelings like that, and easily too, not to mention that he'll enjoy doing it. Harry, on the other hand, wouldn't, never intentionally. That difference hurt, it really did. _What if I'm just leading him on, that it's just a subconscious way of getting back at him? But I love him ... I had said so myself ... didn't I?_

His chibi version appeared yet again, with a vengeance. He was carrying a bow and a quiver of arrows were slung on his back. He winked at him, aiming a drawn arrow at a target that had conveniently has Harry's picture in place of the bull's eye. _How do you know that's it's not just the effect of the Muggle songs you were listening to?_ He sniffed contemptuously. _And, honestly, call him Potter for godsakes! You hate him!_

Shut up! he raged in his head. Chibi-Draco scooted behind the target meekly enough, now devoid of the picture. He peeked out and quailed at Draco's mental glare.

He bit his lip, and hesitantly went to the fastest way he knew to Gryffindor Tower. _I really need to talk to him now ... He might still be at practice ... So where should he come up coming from the field? Damn it, he was supposed to meet me in the library half an hour ago!_

He cursed. _Screw you, Potter, I need to see you right _now_!_

He made an about-face, just as when he heard Ron's voice, chattering about something. 

"It wouldn't hurt ... would it?"

_The hell with Weasley,_ he thought mutinously. _Can't even shut his filthy mouth._ "It wouldn't hurt ... would it?" he mocked in a squeaky falsetto. The blond snorted, rolling his eyes. _Honestly. That stinking fag, kissing Harry where anybody can see them --_

What?!

He slinked back, spying on the two Gryffindors. He hissed softly, clenching his fists, narrowing his eyes into slits. There was Ron Weasley, practically devouring on _his_ Harry! It was very obvious from Ron's face that he was enjoying the kiss immensely. They were even explicit enough to moan softly; it echoed through the narrow corridor, amplifying the sounds before it reached him. As much as he wanted to tear them apart, to slap those fingers on threading through the sable strands of hair of _his_ Harry, he didn't.

_Somebody ... anybody ... tell me it's just a nightmare ..._

He quivered on the spot, tears threatening behind his closed lids. _No ... I'm not going to cry ... not over Ha -- not over Potter._

_I told you so, _The chibi image of himself was back, now starting to chow on strawberry and cream. He leered, scooped some cream into his mouth before continuing. _He's just toying with you._ In a mock conspiracy, _I'll bet the whole Gryffindor House will get a laugh when_ your_ precious Harry slips ... and tells that the worst Slytherin emissary they have is gay. Tsk, tsk, tsk. That's just too bad._

He stood up; the Roman setting was gone, and the toga he wore turned into a cheerleading outfit. It was barely covering his midriff, and his skirt reached down six inches below the hips. Waving his silver and green pompoms, he chanted, with a dance routine to match. "I'm a fag! I'm a fag! I'm a bloody, bloody fag! Yay! Go me!"__

_Go to hell, slut._ Giving his cheering/dancing self a mental glare, Draco wiped the unshed tears in his eyes, rashly. His feet, at first frozen by the sight of the Ron and Harry kissing, finally obeyed him and he walked away from the scene, fists still clenched; blood trickled at each step from ten crescent marks in his palms.

* * *

"I'm so stupid ..." Draco whispered to himself that night. He curled into a ball, holding himself as tight as he could, feeling that if he loosened even just a bit, he would die. Loneliness and something else was eating through him now, tearing him, pushing him to the brink of insanity. Betrayal.

He was now at the Slytherin dorms, crying his eyes out. His roommates were fast asleep: Crabbe and Goyle were snoring, disguising the sobs coming from Draco's part of the room; Nott was, as usual, tossing and turning; Blaise was the only one silent.

They're presence were barely, if not, totally ignored, by Draco.

"I hate you," he hiccupped, tears freefall. He swiped at them but no matter what he did, the tears were still there, running down his cheeks in streaks upon streaks. "You're a liar, Harry Potter ... I don't know what I saw in you ..."

_You deserve the betrayal._

You love him ... and he doesn't love you back.

Lord Voldemort is waiting for you ... he's waiting for us, Draco Malfoy ...

Death is the only viable option. He rejected us again ... we're going to take him with us ... we need to kill Harry Potter ...

We can't face this kind of humiliation. We need to die, Draco Malfoy ...

Voices. They were distracting him. Too many voices.

_Am I going insane?_

Insane ... insane ...

He clawed at himself, five long angry scratches down the length of each arm. It drew blood; the smell woke up the panic, and he began crying, shaking as he was racked with sobs. He banged his head at his knees, not stopping until he was bruised.

"Stop," he whispered. "No ... please ..." He tore at his pajama bottoms, shredding the rich fabric; he scratched his legs violently, weeping, pleading the voices to stop, to leave him alone.

His head swam, sweaty white-blond hair was matted on his forehead in ropy strands, but the most prominent feeling was the desolation, deceit and _the_ voices; he stood up, and sagged against the wall, kneeling before it. Draco slammed his head against the wall repeatedly, beating at it with his fists, kicking almost hysterically. The pain in his whole body did not register; the only thing he was aware of was the emotional distress he was harboring inside, lashing to get out and make itself known.

_I hate you ..._

_Die, Harry Potter ... Draco and I will join you afterwards ..._

"Stop it ..." he choked out.

"Draco! What happened? Oh, shit!"

Blaise Zabini had woken up, and found Draco bleeding, slumped on the floor, crying.

"Draco?"

Blaise was aghast at the sight of his roommate. His blond hair was plastered on his forehead by a steady crimson trickle, his fingertips mangled and bloody, knees and legs purpling with bruises, body nicked with scratches. His eyes were glazed, glassy, unseeing; tears were a continuing stream. He quickly grabbed his wand under his pillow and performed the necessary healing spells to stop the bleeding. He could do nothing more for the bruises and the barely sustained hysteria. All he did was go to the hospital wing, with Draco on an invisible stretcher before him.

"Madam Pomfrey," he addressed the nurse, after the blond boy was bandaged. She was now opening shelves, looking for the Sleeping Draught. "Is he going to be all right?"

"He will be, Zabini. Just don't upset him, he's still fragile. And yes, you may see him, if that was troubling you. Honestly, I wouldn't try talking to him at the moment, but he will be civil enough. Now scoot."

Obediently, he ducked and got out of the way before a cabinet-door hit him on the head. He approached Draco silently, wary.

There was no need though. Draco was very different now, compared to his condition ten minutes ago. His face was emotionless; there were almost no sign of his tears, save the slightly swollen eyes, rimmed pink at the edges. Actually, the only part of his body that was bandaged was his head, but after the salve applied on it was set, it would be off, too. He was sitting up; Blaise noted ghosts of nail marks on his arms. The wounds were healing in full speed, and will be gone the next morning. _Nothing serious, _he thought, relieved. Draco was clutching a letter in one hand, while his eagle-owl was perched on his shoulder.

"Zabini." The voice was hoarse from crying, but nonetheless normal.

"Yes."

Gray eyes pierced through his blue ones. The hand with the letter tightened with a vice grip.

"Are you willing to help me?"

He was startled by the unfiltered emotion on Draco's eyes. _He went through so much ..._ Before he could think, he answered. "Yes."

He closed his eyes, fist still clenched on the parchment. "Then you won't let this get out. This never happened. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Blaise answered again. He felt curious of the whole matter. Why had he woken up with that blond crying and bloodied? It must be serious; he wouldn't cry over something so petty. Then he remembered something.

"What about Potter? You two are ... you want me to tell him ...?"

He glared at him, silver orbs narrowing to steel daggers. The eagle-owl flew away, exiting through the open window with a sympathetic hoot to its master. He did not take notice of the owl; however, his gaze was intensely on Blaise. "This never happened," Draco repeated.

Madam Pomfrey then bustled in, fussing with Draco, shielding him from view. She handed him a goblet full of purple potion, and started taking off the linen around Draco's head. Blaise then decided to go and catch some more sleep before their first class. It would be no point of guarding Draco Malfoy; besides, with him being that volatile, he wasn't sure if he'd even appreciate the company.

Something that fluttered on the floor caught the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he turned and bent over, noticing a balled-up parchment. It was the letter that Draco had received. Intrigued, he picked it up, cautiously glancing at the blond boy. He was dozing off.

He went out of the hospital wing, and at the foot of the winding stairs nearby, he sat down. Smoothing out the creases, the Slytherin boy read the simple note.

_Stay away from something I've claimed as mine, Malfoy. He doesn't want you, anyway. Keep your paws off him. He's mine._ The note wasn't signed.

_Draco sure is in deep shit,_ Blaise thought as he stuck the letter deep in his pocket. He stood up, and descended the stairs, making his way to the Slytherin Dungeons. _Maybe it has something to do with Potter,_ he mused.

He shrugged, partly aware of the portrait that stared at him and shrugged back, _What the hell do I know, anyway?_

He got so occupied with his thoughts that he almost missed the secret entrance. Dutifully, he stood before a wall, and gave the password. "Basilisk," he said, and entered the common room. No one was there. _Really. What do I expect at quarter past one in the morning?_ he thought to himself sourly. Trudging to his room, he sighed, suddenly weary.

_What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

  
  
Author's notes: Yup, I know ... (shudders) It's weird ... not much snogging, but the next parts will make up for it ... if I ever finish it ... (-_-')

Yes, I'm bad, and left this totally hanging. But the third one is on its way ... so, hopefully ...

I'm sorry for the delay ...

To Isys (who'll hopefully review this ...), the Voldemort ficcie is going to take a little more longer than expected ...

Please review ... should I make this a R/D? (kidding ...)

Oh, the owl Blaise sees here is Dilandau, the once-constipated pet of Draco's. And, yeah, he is named after the Tenkuu no Escaflowne psychopath. ^^; 


	3. Points of Authority

Points of Authority

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS: After a Dance Lesson, Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy felt different for each other, but was it just because of the fact that they had been listening to Muggle songs? Ron is not happy about it, and wanted Draco out of the picture, claiming Harry as his. Can Blaise Zabini help things? The Quidditch Final draws closer ...  
Oh, and Remus and Sirius are getting married.

WARNING: bitchy!Ron, possessive!Ron, jealous!Dean, guilty!Harry ... and the author's Slam Dunk and Gensoumaden Saiyuuki obsession? (Hahah, that's right! And I get my dibs on F4, especially Ken Zhu Xian Tian! [gets smothered by fangirls and uhh, guys] He's mine, Lavender! [kick])   
  
You have no right to be here.

You have no right to be with him.

You have no right to be near him, no right to ... use him. Yes, use him, for surely, of all the people who would fall for that bullshit that you love him, or he you, I wouldn't be one. Not that anyone knows. Nevertheless, such insult would be degrading, despicable, and downright laughable. Impossible.

A horrible, unacceptable lie.

You have no right to feel him, wrap your arms around him, kiss him, wallow in his light, and drink in the nectar that is his presence. This is not a place you can buy your way in. Isn't that your way, using your money and influence?

This isn't your territory; you are the hated, the rival, the enemy. This is hostile ground. You're not allowed; I don't, and never will, allow you.

Why? Why are you here? Why does he keep on inviting you here, giving you the place that is supposed to be mine?

I do not believe that you are here because he had wanted you to. You must have tricked him. You must have manipulated him, played with him, toying with his fragile heart, twisting his mind to your profit and pleasure. You must have found something that would work for you in him, which is why you are with him now, deceiving him. Well, who wouldn't really? After all, he _is_ Harry Potter.

The Harry Potter that's staring at the Slytherin Table this Thursday morning, eyes totally glazed with lack of sleep. The Harry Potter that has unknowingly submerged his sausages in strawberry jam meant for his toast, and is stirring his mashed apple tart with catsup, preoccupied. The Harry Potter that was staring at you all this time. The Harry Potter that was, is, and will forever be, mine.

Forfeit the game before somebody else  
Takes you out of the frame  
Puts your name to shame  
Cover up your face, you can't run the race  
The pace is too fast you just won't last

I gritted my teeth at the very sound of his voice at my mind. _All that cocky, strutting around the place like the slimy git you definitely are ..._

Bitch.

Hah. But he's mine ... only mine ...

"Really?" Hermione's voice brought me back to the present. I then concentrated back on the conversation.

She was talking to Seamus, who was seated across Harry. He was nodding matter-of-factly. "Sure. I saw it with my own eyes. I was sneaking inside the Slytherin dorms last night ..."

"Why?" I asked keenly. Harry was quiet, poking at his pancakes, bored. Nobody was paying attention to him, though, except me, of course. That's one thing I never could do. Well, maybe except marry Draco 'boy/best friend snatcher' Malfoy.

"Blaise." That one name drew raised eyebrows from the table. He held up his hands. "That's Zabini to you, one of the Slytherin Elite." He sighed, exasperated, knowing the cause of our current shock, disbelief, and, most of all, indignity. "So what if he's Slytherin?"

Slytherin Elite is what we had dubbed all the sickeningly rich pretty-boys, who we suspect (and personally, I am sure) of being Death Eaters in the making. That, nonetheless, has the slimy git Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, and Avery in the top ranks.

Of course, for some obvious reasons of _not_ being pretty boys, Crabbe and Goyle weren't included in the list.

"All Slytherins are 'Elite' snobs," I muttered. "With that git at the head of the pack ..."

Lavender piped up, blatantly eyeing Zabini, who was minding his own breakfast at Slytherin Table. "Personally, I think he was pretty cute — ow!" she rubbed her smarting arm, glaring at Parvati, who was dabbing the side of her mouth with a burgundy napkin innocently. Dean gave a choked snigger, which she mistook for a sneeze. "Bless you," she had said. Really, I couldn't believe how ditzy that girl can be.

"Hands off, sister, that boy is mine," shamrock eyes flashed, frightening if not for the obvious humor. He blocked her view with his Divination book.

I felt my eyebrow twitch at that. So he was _really_ serious about Zabini. Ah, the wonders of the fickle human emotions.

"Okay, okay, you were saying ...?" Dean pressed, rolling his eyes in disgust at Lavender's antics.

Seamus studied us first, pleased when he saw how we were hanging at his words. We, meaning, excluding Harry. Relishing the attention, he smiled at us, and raked a hand through his sandy blond hair. "I almost forgot that I was supposed to be wearing this gravity defying hairdo that he drools over. Anyway, Blaise and I were supposed to meet at the Astronomy Tower last night — sorry, I mean, way early this morning —" he started nonchalantly.

"What for?" Dean cut in. _Tsk, tsk, tsk. So jealous, aren't you?_

Seamus turned to him with an angelically innocent face. "Oh, come on, man. The same reason why a few years back, Percy and Neville here always hook up doing 'extra homework' almost every night for Divination _together_." He winked cheekily.

At the reference of his name, Neville spluttered, spraying Lavender with bits of bacon, eggs, milk, and toast. He apologized hurriedly and excused himself, scampering out of the Hall like a scared bunny.

For one, I congratulated Neville silently on spraying chewed food on prissy, snotty, bitchy Lavender.

We stared at Seamus.

"You are one poufy wicked bastard, Seamus Finnigan," I said, eyes wide.

Hermione glared at him. "What did you do that for?"

"Hey, Dean was the one asking what — and that was the truth, too!" he protested.

"But that doesn't mean you have the right to tattle!" Hermione answered heatedly. I placed a hand on her wrist, but I know I don't have to. I just did, alright?

Okay, so my crush for Hermione is not so overly blatant, like Dean to Seamus.

Don't blame me for being so fucked up in the head that I can't decide who I_ do_ have a crush on, Hermione, Seamus (Dean's going to kill me if I ever admit that) or Harry. Fuck the hormones.

Oh, bloody fuck. Now, I'm flaming cursing every other bloody word, and Mum's going to fucking wash my flaming mouth when she bloody hears of this stupid friggin' thing.

Anyway, before that previous deluge of oaths could permanently scar me in ways I'd regret in my whole lifetime ...

"Chill out, would you?" Dean held his hands up. Harry remained quiet, now watching the mixture of maple syrup and butter that had formed into a puddle on the side of his plate like it held the wonders of Potion-making. In other words, uninterestedly. I sighed. What was bugging him today? Could someone please enlighten me about my best friend?

I caught his gaze flickering across the far end of the Hall, the tiniest of deliberately sexy pouts, and a ghost of a smile hovering on his lips. I shouldn't have asked. No Slytherin could coax that reaction from my best friend if I couldn't, except _him_. Disgusted, I savagely stabbed my apple jam buttered toast.

Seamus made a show of fanning himself. "Look, I _am_ sorry, okay? I'll apologize later ..." he trailed off.  
  
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, and she shut it again, thinking about it. She shook her head wanting to change the topic, which suited us fine. "This is the third time you sneaked out this week?"

"I think so. And no, it's the fourth time. I stayed there since Saturday, and I didn't sneak in Sunday. Where was I again? Right. We were supposed to meet there — five minutes before one, if you should know — but he was late, about ten minutes or so, and he _never_ gets late. Anyway, I got worried — stupidly, yes —" responding to Dean's snort. "So I went to the Slytherin Dungeons. Thank heaven that Avery was out, he usually stays at the common room till the wee hours of the morning so early that it's still considered late. I climbed the stairs, managed to enter without waking anybody up. I waited for him at that room. And I saw —" he lowered his voice dramatically. "Blood."

"Blood?" Hermione asked shrewdly. "Are you sure?"

"Where?" I inquired at the same time.

"Definitely," he answered her first, tapping the bridge of his nose. "It was smeared on the wall, a fair amount of it, mind you, near an empty bed. Looked like somebody bashed their brains out, only, there wasn't any bits of guts and gore to prove my assumption." There was a relevant pause as he took a swig of his milk and poked his sausages.

I narrowed my eyes. God ... who would be sick enough ...?

"Botched suicide attempt. Crazy Slytherin buffoons."

"Blaise was out; only arrived a few minutes after I did."

"So Blaise owns the empty bed near the blood?" Parvati was now curious, too. Got to hand it to Seamus ... well, he didn't get to be Commentator for the Quidditch Matches for nothing ...

Seamus shook his head. "Nope. There were two empty beds when I arrived at their dorm. Not one."

"So ...?" Lavender was staring at Seamus with wide eyes. There was still bits of bacon on her eyebrows. I had to suppress a sniggering fit, forgetting where my thoughts were heading. I heard Dean across me mutter, "Shut up, bitch." I smirked discreetly. Below the table, I nudged his foot, letting him know that we have the same mind. He returned the gesture.

"I think I know whose blood it is." Seamus was nodding at himself as our attention was turned to him.  
  
"And you know this how?" I asked.  
  
He shrugged. "I'm a genius." We all snorted. Harry was pouring mayonnaise and congee on his chocolate-flavored cereal, which he was stirring with a knife. I resisted the urge to storm at the Slytherin Table, Transfigure you into a slug, and stomp on you and smear you on the cobblestone floor ...  
  
"The blood was still fresh when I arrived, meaning that it wasn't that long since the occupant had ..."  
  
"Cut the chase, Seamus, who is it?"  
  
As one, we all turned to Lavender. "Oh, shut up!"  
  
He looked over at the Slytherin Table, glancing furtively, before turning to his friends. "By the way, at about three in the morning, he still wasn't there ..." His voice dropped a notch so that we have to move closer. "I was fairly sure that it was ..." He fixed us a dramatic gaze. "Draco Malfoy."

I should have known.

"What?!"

A collective stare. Harry was half-standing, gripping his fork tightly, goggling at Seamus, green eyes almost frantic. "What?! What did you say about D — Malfoy?!"

Dean chuckled at that. "Don't worry, Harry, if something bad happened to that bastard, it's good for us, isn't it?" I agreed silently. Maybe it's a good idea to bond with Dean once in a while. Looks like we could go along very, _very_ well.

He acted as though he hadn't heard Dean. Probably.

A little confused, Seamus recounted what he said, in a more direct, less winding way, but nevertheless dramatic. "Anyway, you're still going to battle him at the Quidditch field next month, whatever had happened." He rolled his eyes. "He'd jump at this opportunity, I mean, a concluding match of Slytherin-Gryffindor over the Cup?"

"And, it isn't confirmed that it's Malfoy's blood." Adding hastily, "It could be some animal he tortured or something." Hermione was logical, she always was, and slightly prejudiced, but who wasn't? But there was a sort of, I don't know, understanding, between her and Harry. He was still highly volatile, though seemingly pacified by her explanation. I could have sworn she knew what was bothering him. I knew I do.

He was worried about that bloody wanker. Hmph. We'll see, then ...

"Are you even sure it's human blood?"

"Excuse me, I'm not the idiot you mistake me to be." Seamus was scandalized. "What do you think of me?" We all raised our eyebrows. Harry crossed his arms impatiently. "Fine. I checked it, but I needn't have to; for Christ's sakes, there are blood fists-marks imprinted on the wall! Anyway ... You know the Blood-Type Charm? It was an A, so yep, pretty sure it was human blood."

"I would have thought there was an easier alternative," there was a note of haughtiness on Parvati's voice. As from what I've known, she goes tetchy when a story goes through too many loops before you get to the gist. It's starting to get to my nerves too, actually. And knowing that Harry was caring too much about that bastard did nothing to appease my anger ...

"Of course there is! That's just what I thought at the moment!" The Irish boy proffered a hand at his chest. "And I know for a fact that, while everyone else, meaning Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, are O, Blaise is AB," he nodded at the blond head across the room. "Draco is an A."

"And that is because?" Harry demanded.

"Let me guess," Dean cut in dryly. "It was the 'limited' _Slytherin Profiles_ that's recently being circulated around the school, huh?"  
  
"Actually, no, though I did get a copy. All trash." Seamus's green eyes sparkled with barely concealed mischief. "But you know _I_ have my reliable sources of Slytherin profiles." He closed his eyes and sighed, covering his mouth with his hand. "Poor me. Blaise didn't even notice I was there, at his bed, gods; took him a good three minutes. I wonder what could have happened ..."

"Cracked," I supplied, glaring viciously across the Great Hall. "Hysterically insane suicide attempt. Some Death Eater ritual, maybe." I raised my eyebrows. "You know how Malfoy is."

"Oooh!" Lavender suddenly burst out. What was this crazy chick on about again? Is she on drugs or what? "I saw him this morning ... Malfoy, I mean. I was doing my detention for that bit of nail polish remover that ate a hole in Charms Class ..."

"How could we forget, Lavender?" Hermione rolled her eyes. Was she finally catching on the Lavender-is-such-a-bitch bug? Oh yeah ... she owns that nail polish remover. Girls.

"After I scrubbed about a year's worth of bedpans, I saw him near the Hospital Wing. That was about — four, I think — and he has this linen wrapped around his hand, and he was taking it off."

"Had a bit of accident, I daresay," Dean said. "That wasn't anything relevant."

"It is so," she countered. "Instead of disposing it properly, he got rid of it by putting it on fire. Isn't that strange?" She was satisfied with the perplexed expression on our faces. "It was almost as if he was hiding evidence, isn't it?"

Wondering aloud, Parvati chewed on her fork pensively. "But of what?"

Unfazed by the new information, my best friend was almost in a fit of hysteria. "Wait! Seamus!" There was _that_ tone in Harry's voice that made my blood curdle, knowing that this was Malfoy's welfare he was pertaining to. "Seamus! Where did you get that student's profile!"

Going deadpan, he answered with a frivolous toss of his head. "Simpered up to Snape. Offered certain services he might find — er — pleasurable ..."

"Eurgh." Parvati voiced out all of our comments well enough, turning a slight shade of green to match the green peppers in her omelet.

Rolling his eyes, Seamus popped in a chunk of pineapple in his mouth. "Did you really think I have the guts to do that?" He shuddered for show.

Muttering darkly, Dean replied. "I'm not one to answer that question, Finnigan."

"I thought so." He nodded in his direction. "Yes, Harry, I'm going to explain, keep your shirt on." _Oh don't. Keep Harry's shirt on, I mean. *eg*_ "If you really want to know, I got it from the Weasley twins." He shot us an amused look. "Cost me four sheets, back-to-back, of the **Kama Sutra Deluxe Wizard's Edition**, I'm afraid it had. They wanted the yaoi version, of course." At an afterthought, "At least they didn't ask for colored pages specifically."

"Ooooh ..." I clutched my head. "Information overload, Seamus."  
  
"There is something like that?!" Lavender looked sick at the thought. Like we would have cared anyway.

"Oh yeah," he replied cheerfully. "I have it right here ... if you'd fancy a peek ..."

Lavender, eyes wide, shook her head vehemently. At least she kept her humungous fat mouth shut.

Oh, but I would, though. Just as long as they don't feature blonds and brunettes together. Brunettes and redheads, on the other hand ...

Must wait later for gutter excursions ...

Hermione snapped her fingers under Seamus's chin, catching his attention. "Okay. Draco Malfoy's blood was on a Slytherin dorm room wall next to his bed, got that. You saw anything else unfamiliar?"

"Sure did, Watson." It seemed to be a joke; a Muggle one, since the only ones who got it were Hermione, Seamus, and Dean. The rest of us must have looked confused, so Hermione waved her hand.

"There was a T-back underneath Malfoy's pillows, which suspiciously resembled the one Harry was wearing when he sprained his knee during practice. Remember when you got caught by the Whomping Willow while chasing down the Snitch a first year let loose? I saw it when your robes got ripped."

My turn to have a violent reaction. Especially after seeing that telltale 'brushing bangs back' and 'twitchy right eyebrow'. Trademark _guilty_ Harry Potter signs.

"What?!" Tell me I did not just see that. Somebody. Anybody. Please. Tell me Harry is not guilty ...

"What?!" I repeated.

Seamus stood up, face ashen, biting his lips. "Cool it. I was lying." He said all of this carefully, backing away slightly, rather worried. Sudden realization of Hermione's hand, holding onto my arm, restraining. I must have been quite a fright. "I was joking, Ron. I didn't see anything else, I swear. I'm just making things up."

_Make sure you are, Seamus._ My eyes burned. I swear, if looks could kill, Malfoy (who seemed long immune) would be buried and soon forgotten on an unmarked grave in a desert canyon by now. _Coz I sure as hell don't think so._

Dean was in a hurry to change the topic. "What about those tapes your dad was sending you, want to give 'em a shot tonight?"

Seamus shrugged. "Maybe. Fact of the matter is, we're loaded with subjects tomorrow. I reckon tomorrow night will be fine, though. We'd have a much longer time, given it's a weekend." He widened his eyes, comically scared. "It's Snape Day tomorrow!"

How very unappetizing. Potions. Eew.

We began to get up, since first subject for the day was Herbology. Seriously, I had to drag Harry away from the Hall. Discreetly, of course.

One day, Malfoy. I've warned you. If you still won't stop, I sure will make you. Whatever it might cost me.   


You love the way I look at you  
While taking pleasure in the awful things you put me through  
You take away if I give in  
My life; my pride is broken  


We were chatting idly about stuff as we went to the greenhouses, the five of us; Dean, Seamus, Hermione, Harry, and I. We were just about to open the doors when about a gallon of something that stank and icy cold drenched my robes, and most certainly, myself.

"My, what have we here? Potter and his tag-along riffraff gang."

I could never forget that awful drawling voice that I bet my best friend would find innocently sexy.

"Malfoy." Harry said calmly, as a way of greeting. I could almost see the heat suddenly rising from his delectable neck. I scowled.

Cocking his arrogant blond head, he answered, just as composed. "Potter."

I stared at myself, horrified. I was sloshed with something maroon. And from the looks of it, it was permanent. I started at him, almost frothing at rage. Dean, Seamus, and Hermione restrained me. Harry touched my shoulder, and I instantly kept still.

"I'll deal with him, Ron."

At that time, I had wanted to retort, _What are you going to do, snog him?_, but miraculously, I kept my mouth shut, though continuing my futile struggling.

"What a waste of magically-enhanced preserved spider bile," the bloody fuck was shaking his head as he stared at the pooling mass beneath my feet. What did he say? Spider bile?! I could have fainted, if I didn't remember on time that the pansy-wanker was making a pass at _my_ Harry.

A sigh. "Professor Snape would be so disappointed. A shame, don't you think, Blaise?" As if just for the benefit of stoking my already volatile anger, his polished Head Boy badge gleamed, reminding me of its presence.

Seamus spoke, propping me in front of him, as was Dean. "Blaise ..."

But as if on cue, another torture with an overly large nose and slimy hair appeared, by the name of Severus I-am-obviously-in-love-with-Remus-Lupin Snape, Potions Master.

"What is this hold-up?" He glared at (most of) us disdainfully. "Ten points from Gryffindor. There is no dawdling allowed in the halls, especially during class hours." Hermione must have given an indignant squeak (I was too busy watching Harry that I didn't notice) that Snape nonetheless heard. "Yes, Ms. Granger, I believe that is rather unfair." Seamus and Dean breathed a sigh of relief.

Oh no, not yet, I don't think so. There must be something coming.

"I will make it ten points from each of you." He eyed us, scrutinizing. "There are seven of you? Indeed. Add sixty to the ten. Seventy points off Gryffindor."

We all groaned inwardly. Seventy points. Gone.

"Weasley!" he snapped. "What ... that is a very delicate Potion ingredient!"

Hermione spoke up. "It was a magically-enhanced spider bile, Professor."

He glared at her. "Your input is not needed, Ms. Granger, as I am well aware of that obvious fact. Draco, I thought you were to bring it to the Dungeons."

"Yes, Professor. It was —"

"No need for explanations, Draco." Oooh! Was the git going to be reprimanded? Well, if this bile stuff was really important ...

"I can see what had happened," Snape was saying. "I will not take points off the House, but I will give Weasley here," he glared at me. "Detention."

"What?!" That was totally unfair. I could have bashed his nose through his face, if not for my Housemates restraining me. Oh, and I liked the way Harry clung to my arm. Spiffy.

Sometimes, though, I wish Sirius was here. He would have helped me gut this guy out. And I could certainly exaggerate the heated glances Snape often shoots Lupin. Like duh.

Anyway, they had me physically restrained as Snape continued speaking. "You are to grind all the stock of spider legs on the sixth floor of the Astronomy Tower this Saturday. Or unless, you want to scrub the Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, _and_ Gryffindor bathrooms for the rest of the month, no magic?" Okay, that stopped me from struggling. Crushing spider legs is an enough detention for a night.

He swept away in his dark billowy robes, Blaise and the stinking fag after him. But not before ...

"Potter."

I glared at him. If I just know _any_ wizardry that can be done through looking at something ...

He moved closer to _my_ Harry, about an arm's length from him. Extending his mangy hand he cupped his chin with a light touch, their flesh barely touching.

DON'T HE DARE TOUCH _MY_ HARRY!!!

"Slytherin is going to win this time." His eyes were gray slits, half-mast; I clenched my teeth. "I am going to win this time. I would like you, Potter ..." he trailed his hand down, skimming _my_ Harry's chest and abs, before halting not too low for comfort. "To bear that in mind." His fingers were at _my_ Harry's chin yet again.

"I will, Malfoy." He was so poised, but I could sense he was trembling slightly. Not of rage, for sure. Damn you, you bloody ferret ...

Harry pushed Malfoy's fingers away, but not before entwining them for the briefest of moments. "Just in case I might prove you wrong."

He smirked. "We'll see at the Quidditch Match, then." He tapped his cheek lightly before withdrawing his filthy digits. "Oh, I've made new lyrics for your song, Weasley, just in time. I'm sure you'll love it, I've added a dance routine to match. Such a shame that I'm not a Chaser ..." Chortling smugly, Malfoy disappeared at a dark corridor, blending with the shadows. Crabbe and Goyle, sniggering, whistling "Weasley is Our King", followed him stupidly.

I slammed a clenched fist at a wall, making a horrible creaking sound. "Good riddance."

Seamus, who had obviously been snogging with Zabini during the entire exchange (he hadn't interrupted with some stupid comments), was hanging at _my_ Harry's arm.

He whistled. "Oh, good lord, Harry, Malfoy just made a pass at you! Draco Malfoy!"

Protesting innocently, "No! He hadn't, he's Malfoy, Seamus, get it straight. We're enemies."

"Oh, this is so good!" he was crying ecstatically. "Malfoy's got the hots for you, Harry, I swear he has! Oh ... Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter! Gods ..."

"Don't be a prat, Seamus, he's not making a pass at me. All he did was to threaten me ..."

"Yeah, Seamus, Harry's right." Oh, I could just kiss Dean. Well, I wouldn't, of course. "Malfoy doesn't have the hots for Harry ... well, maybe he does but ..." he's eyes gleamed wickedly. "It's him who got the hots for Malfoy!"

"Yeah!" Seamus crowed, pumping his fists on the air.

"Imagine what they will say if it was found that Malfoy Heir is a pouf, and that he's smitten with the Boy Who Lived!"

"Don't you dare let this out!" I barked, as Harry had burst out, "Are you friggin' insane?!" in the same scandalous-volumed, infuriated tones.

Expectant silence hung.

"Imagine what would happen if the press gets hold of this. I had enough publicity as it is, and the Triwizard stuff and supposed interviews I had ..."

I tried to filter my voice so that it would not sound so harsh and grating with anger. "Sounds horrible."

The Irish boy blinked at us incredulously. "Sounds like fun."

"Not to mention all those stuff about me being a loon ..."

"Yeah, but that's been cleared, you're the Boy Who Lived again. So Harry," Dean began, prodding him lightly in the ribs. "Are you on top or bottom?"

Harry and I were a perfect match; color of my hair, color of his face. I could kill Thomas and Finnigan ... What roommates? Shit that!

Hermione was wearing that half boys-are-so-vulgar look and half if-anyone-asks-me-I'm-not-your-friend expression.

"Dean! What kind of stupid question is that?"

"The one that he shouldn't ask." Harry nodded. Okay, I'll spare Seamus. "Since you're on the bottom, right, Harry?" He gave him a look-over. "You look like that kind of guy ..."

LET ME AT HIM, LET ME AT HIM!!!

"Told you so," he said smugly. "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy: In Heat and In Love. Nice article that would make. Or a TV series title, perhaps?"

Harry sighed. "I'm serious, quit it, you two. And how could you say that? This is Malfoy! He's my enemy ..."

Seamus shrugged. "Animosity is a cover-up for infatuation.* And Malfoy is one drop-dead helluva fuckalicious guy."

"Oh, and that arse, so grabbable ... and pinchable ... and chewable ..."

Shock. "How crude, Thomas, how crude!"

Harry sighed again, quite fed up. "I am serious, guys. Quit it."

Finally catching on, they decided to stop. Hallelujah! "Fine, whatever you say, Captain." They drew back, at the rear, and fell silent, or as quiet as Seamus could manage. I think that guy could die if he can't talk for at least ten seconds, unless he's snogging. At the background I could hear them speculating. Remind me to find a reason good enough to gut these guys out ...

"Damn Malfoy. Spider bile ... of all the things ..."

"Oh, come off it, Ron, it wasn't as if he hexed you, it could have been worse, think about it," Harry was saying as we were outside.

"Yeah, probably, he has to get expelled or something," I said gloomily.

"Well, it was a good thing spider bile needs to be ingested before it takes effect, you know."

Harry frowned. "You can fix that, can't you, Hermione?"

"Yes, of course," Hermione said rather distractedly. "But Harry ... since those two had brought it up ... have you noticed a weird thing about Malfoy? Just this week? About after the Dance Lessons."

Oh, the guy was red in the neck. "Er ..."

"He seems not to insult us as much, don't you think?"

I could have sworn Dean and Seamus were giving their own answer out of earshot. Harry's earshot, not mine, but I could tune them out, just the same.

"And that's a bad thing?" there was a trace of humor ... and tension in that voice.

"Makes me think that something is going on," I answered, rather waspish. "Makes me suspect Seamus and Dean are right."

Harry brushed his bangs back, his right eyebrow twitching. "Really? Maybe it's just the Quidditch thing. You know, only a month or so to go." He looked at the horizon wistfully. "Malfoy. Hm. Peculiar."

Slytherin Quidditch Captain and Seeker, you say? Included in the Top 10 entitled Honor-garnering students? Slytherin prefect for three years straight? Sinfully, gorgeously, god-like sexy? Heir to one of the oldest, most renowned, and wealthiest wizarding families in Europe, maybe the whole world? I don't care. He is Harry Potter's infatuation. I could just wring his neck and squeeze ...   


You like to think you're never wrong  
You'll live what you learn  
You have to act like you're someone  
You'll live what you learn  
You want someone to hurt like you  
You'll live what you learn  
You like to share what you've been through  
You'll live what you learn  


Trust Malfoy to destroy one of _my own_ clothes (which were, to date, three, _sans_ the said robe). The few of its kind not outgrown. Coloring it maroon, if I may add. Anyway, I wasn't going to wear it anytime soon. Stupid bastard.

It was now, as Seamus had dubbed, Snape Day, and thankfully, a period before Potions was free. The old bat had given us research on Muggle Divination Contraptions, so McGonagall thought that it would be constructive for us learning more Advanced forms of Transfiguration early in the morning (as for that Lesson), and Charms was moved (just this week) to the usual Transfiguration slot. Maybe something really was going on.

Anyway, I could just wish that meaning a free period was also fun and relaxation.

Well, apparently, it wasn't. Here I am, at least with Harry, as Hermione has an Ancient Runes class, at the Library, going to the research on History of Magic. Or, as I suggested and agreed upon, look for research materials, borrow them, and work in the seclusion of our room. A secret love tryst ...

"Do you reckon, Harry?" I asked him as I pulled a thick heavy volume that read, '_Renaissance Era: A Wizard's View_'. "I mean, Binns asked for how wizards lived during the fifteenth to seventeenth century." I gestured at the book. "Is this enough? What do you think?"

His answer was an awed whisper. "Gorgeous."

I blinked. Was Harry Potter, the object of my affections, actually told me that _I_ was gorgeous? Unbelievable. I turned to look at him. Oh, what tête-à-têtes lead to!

I want to thank Witch Weekly for that article about Muggle romanticism. It works! Oh bless everyone, I love you all ...

Shock registered to me, as, obviously, he had been watching Draco Malfoy through the shelves. Damn it!

I eyed his clothing carefully. So, was Harry digging the whole tight-as-leather stuff? The tighter the clothing, the sexier you look to him? Or was it, perhaps, the generous amount of neck that bloody slut was showing?

Either way, he was a nuisance.

I tugged Harry's shirt; in retrospect, I think I am indeed acting like a kid, as what would Hermione would have told me.

"Let's get out of here," I insisted (read: whined) to him, as I clutched the book with one hand. "Come on, Harry ... our things are still at the Dorm ..."

He held up his hand. "Lupin asked for a copy of Vampire Chronicles™ and Dracula™ for a comparative essay, didn't he?"

Disgusted, I tried again. "It is due for not another three weeks, Harry. We could go back later ..."

"You know what Hermione would say. Sooner the better, when it's about homework."

"Whatever, Harry. She also said that if you would be late, don't do it at Potions. Come on ..."

"There are still fifteen minutes ... we can make it ..."

That bloody bastard, distracting _my_ Harry! His eyes almost bulged out of their sockets when those filthy hands of that pissy-wanker were doing all those disgusting, vile, and downright pornographic erotic body language. Sucking his (middle) fingertip as he took read, biting his lip, fingers moving all-over his face in errant patterns ... hands caressing his chest in the pretense of studying — argh! How hedonistic could anyone get? How voyeuristic could you get? How masochistic could _I_ get?

We went on this thread for a few more minutes, nine to be exact, with me worrying and complaining while he was blatantly ogling, and so we were running for our lives before the bell would ring.

Just the rotten luck of bumping to Peeves, who, fascinated by Muggle machine guns, were trying it, using neon pink and slime green dye projectiles. Even though we evaded them, I still got the half of my face neon pink. Blech. At least it's easier to remove than the bile stuff; Hermione managed it in one quick spell.

I guess it was fate that saved me, when I slipped and managed to land (literally) in the Potions Classrooms just a few seconds before the bell rang. Leaving Harry. Shit!

Quirky passage, it was, a wall, dead-end, and I just sort of leaned through it. Good thing it was there when I most needed it, and I managed to pull Harry in with me. It also happened that only one person per House could do that everyday, entering the Potion Classroom via the dead-end. Damn it!

I could see the bloody bastard pleased, smirking to himself, scorning me, somehow knowing what had happened before I appeared beside the stone gargoyles.

_You see, Weasley? You want Potter?_ he leered wider. _Then you will have to make him forget about me first. Of course, this is fairly ... impossible._ Gray eyes glittered malevolently. _Don't you think?_   


You love the things I say I do  
The way I hurt myself again just to get back at you  
You take way if I give in  
My life; my pride is broken 

  
Harry entered the classroom, head bowed.

"Have I not stated the importance of punctuality, or is it too hard to get through your thick skull, Potter? Even Longbottom managed to arrive on time!" Snape paused in his rant, lips forming a thin smile. "Ah, but of course — " he grabbed _my_ Harry's face, forcing him to look up, and display his green neck with a matching pink glittery tottering ballerina, for everyone to see. The Slytherins all guffawed, but I think that I can take credit on the look of amusement Malfoy was displaying. I just hope that his stomach upsets with all that air from laughing ...

How dare Snape?!

"That will be detention, Potter, Astronomy Tower, sixth floor, tomorrow. Stay after class and I will give you the instructions. Now sit."

Harry was murderous. "Give me one good reason ..."

"We are now dealing with a Binding Draught. How does it work, anybody?" He pointedly did not look at Hermione's direction. It's not like she's waving her hand, anyway.  
  
Wait. Back up a minute.  
  
Hermione not going to recite? Was it end of the world?  
  
Harry's brows were cutely drawn as we both stared in utter disbelief at our best friend.  
  
"What?" she hissed irritably, pouting at Snape's back. "I don't know everything, if you've noticed." I bit back a retort. "And as from what I've read ..."  
  
I couldn't help but blurt out, "Now that's more like you."  
  
Harry gave a low laugh. "Yeah, Herm, don't scare us like that."  
  
"...Illegal."  
  
"Huh?"  
  
"Yes, Mister Malfoy?"

"The Binding Draught, an alkaline mixture, is along the borders of Dark and Light Magic, and bases its permanence by the quantity of a very special ingredient, which is spider bile. It allows the '_caster_' to bind the '_victim_' to himself, after a sworn word," he drawled. "If the '_victim_' violates their '_deal_' ... he will die. Just the same rule applies for the '_castor_'."

"Well said, Draco. Ten points for Slytherin." He held up a gray-blue concoction. "The spider bile is only one of the important liquids the Draught contains; there are also unicorn tears, blood from the '_castor_' and '_victim_', and condensed essence of belladonna. This example is diluted in water, wherein the effects are more drastic, extreme. The more vibrant the color," he showed a crystal phial with scarlet liquid inside. "The lesser the concentration of all important liquids and water is absent, the lesser the effects."

Leaning slightly against the table, Snape regarded us (Gryffindors) coldly, but with a favoring nod to the Slytherins. Hmph.

"As I was saying," Hermione told us, only a side of her mouth twitching, "this Binding Draught is illegal, like Love Potions."  
  
My jaw dropped.  
  
"Illegal?!" Harry was indignant. I hushed him hurriedly.  
  
"Dumbledore won't ..."  
  
"You might be wondering why we would be brewing such a dangerous potion," Snape was saying. Yeah ... of all the potions, why an illegal one? Hah! Hope we can get him ousted ...

"It might prove useful, like an addicting drug, a means of control ..." he trailed off. "And don't think of even researching it, since it basically isn't well-known and still under further study. But I am teaching you to prepare you for the worst, as the Headmaster ordered." He snorted. "And unless a sworn agreement was given, the potion would be no harm." The git made a sweep of his black-clad sleeve. "And for your information, we would not be brewing a strong Binding Draught. Even the Headmaster does not trust you," with a special glare at Harry's direction, "With such potent magic. We will be testing this at the end of the period. Everyone ..." with a meaningful look at the frightened and trembling Neville, "Will drink a vial of your brews."

A chorus of groans washed over the room.

Snape held up a limp hand. "Silence." The murmurs of protests died at the dangerous tone of the voice. "Pair by pair, each of you will come to me when you have drank the Draught. You are to describe every miniscule detail. If anything is amiss ..." Baring his greasy teeth, he left the statement hanging.

He put down the phials and began to write the ingredients and we got ready. Hm ... hibiscus pollen grains, preserved foxglove steeped in hydra venom, aconite ...

"I don't think so, Potter." My head snapped up. He was sitting next to Millicent Bulstrode. "The seats have been changed while you were too busy to arrive in time for my lesson." Why does he had to rub that in? Makes me guilty. Why does that deprived fuck always makes _my_ Harry miserable? And us? Nope, it's more than the lost Order of Merlin, First Class.

I blinked. New seats? That explains Hermione. But ... what the hell ... Malfoy and _my_ Harry sharing a cauldron. Oh, there was only so much I could take ...

Once that Hermione wasn't looking, I quickly took my chance. Harry was washing their ingredients, Malfoy was starting on his crocodile heart, so I carefully made a double of our own crocodile heart, threw a Dung Bomb in it, and Banished it under the table, aiming it at Malfoy's head. Wrong move.

The wanker tipped their table as the heart grazed his hair, staining it greenish-red, I might proudly add, and whizzing pass his head, managed to hit Snape full force, bull's eye, at his overly large schnoz.

The whole class fell silent. My turn to go back to the facade of dutifully peeling the caterpillars of their exoskeletons, and seemingly stopping to see what the fuss was about. I can be a pretty good actor, you know.

Finally, Snape managed to speak. Uh-oh. Dungbomb exploded.

We all covered our noses. It took a full seven minutes to regain order. 

"Mister Malfoy ..."

Twitchy ferret, eh? "It wasn't me, sir."

Snape sighed, with the evidence at his feet, he couldn't pin it on anybody else. "As much as I want to believe you, _Mister_ Malfoy, I will still be seeing you at the end of the class." Gray eyes grew wide, a parody of a Muggle Blond B horror movie. "Yes, it's about your detention, sixth floor, at Chiron's Den, tomorrow. Yes, Mr. Malfoy, you will serve your detention with Potter. And ..." it looked like it was too painful for him to say it. "Five points will be taken from Slytherin."

I whooped silently. Detention for the bloody ferret ... Chiron's Den ... Astronomy Tower; that room was in the sixth floor, next to the Potions Storage room ...

Wait a second.

Oh no.

THEY CAN'T BE SHARING A DETENTION! NOT AT THE MOST COVETED MAKE-OUT PLACE IN ALL OF HOGWARTS! NO!

I hastily thought of a plan. I could ... no, impossible. What about ... no, absurd. Bring You-Know-Who here? Yeah right ... I bit my lip, worried. I have to come up with something before class ends ...

Of course! Detention! I could make a ruckus (again) and join in the Astronomy Tower! Worth a shot, that one was. What was the Muggle saying? Two's a company, three's a crowd? Well, here goes nothing ...

Tossing in the shredded alder bark, crocodile blood, and lemons, I muttered an incantation at the solution, which started to fizz; I hurled it at the teacher's table. See? I could be a Chaser.

A side of the table dissolved, disintegrated. Hermione stared at me, and I stared back at her. I covered my mouth in mock shock. In retrospect, I could not believe that I did that just to make sure that if Malfoy and Harry will be serving detention together, they wouldn't be alone. Snape, as would be expected, was livid.

"Weasley ..." The git was growling as he approached me furiously. "Twenty points off Gryffindor, and detention, here at the Dungeons." His face twisted in a half-grimace, half-smirk. "It seems that your spider meddling is not enough."

My eyes were bloodshot after that. Oh Lord! How could I forget? I already had detention tomorrow at the same Tower, at the same floor, at the next room! Oh ...

"Ron ..." Hermione said softly.

"Don't say it."

Almost sadistically, I watched my best friend, a few cauldrons away, his head bowed, darting glances at me. It seems that the slimy git was prodding him and making snide comments. Shooting me a meaningful smirk, he leant closer to Harry, _my_ Harry, drawing him closer to whisper to his ear. No doubt our classmates wouldn't suspect anything off, but I know what I see ...

Malfoy had won this round, I'll admit as much; grinding my teeth in denial would only dull my pearly whites, after all. But I swear, will get back to him, if that's the last thing that I do. Mark my words, Malfoy. I'll make you shrivel up in shame. 

  
You like to think you're never wrong  
You'll live what you learn  
You have to act like you're someone  
You'll live what you learn  
You want someone to hurt like you  
You'll live what you learn  
You like to share what you've been through  
You'll live what you learn  


I was resolved to forget my stupidity this night, as we were supposed to be having fun, watching Muggle movies. We had all agreed on that part, since Harry and I (I love that phrase) were going to serve detention the next night.

"Don't be expecting much, though," Seamus addressed us, while fiddling with Hermione at the VCR he brought. We were at the common room, just as to not make it look like we were going to watch porn with Lavender, Parvati, and Hermione inside the same room with us. Ugh, disturbing thought ...

"The best I could get was R ..."

Hermione straightened up indignantly. "Seamus Finnigan, behave yourself! That's a point from Gryffindor!"

"Aww ... Herm ..." She's mindful of her being Head Girl, Hermione was. So, when she saw a fourth year with her boyfriend, teaching the younger students how to read tea leaves correctly (using the Force or whatever idiotic thing that was), she awarded them five points. Easy enough.

So we watched movies. The first thing we saw was a film called _'Jerry McGuire.'_ The lead actor was attractive enough, I guess, but seriously, I didn't see what the fuss was about, he doesn't come close to Harry ...

The movie? Tolerable; but then, I was too busy mulling over the events of the past week.

Seamus, who had been sitting in front of me began to squeal and jump up and down vigorously, together with Lavender. That snapped me out of my funk.

"What? What is it?" I asked irritably. Then, as I watched the screen, I saw. Oh god ... did I saw him, alright ... On the second thought, make that a _they_ ...

It was an advertisement of some sort ... a drink, maybe, I don't know, it's Muggle ... and there were these really cute guys in it.**

I shrugged. Oh, well. Harry's cuter.

"Who are those guys? Who are those?!" Seamus shrieked, pointing at the screen.

Voice drowned by a series of high-pitched screams from Lavender, Hermione answered him. "F4. They're Asian ... Chinese or Taiwanese, I'm not really sure ..."

"Are you sure they're Muggle?" Disbelief coated Parvati's words as she pointed to a particular chinky-eyed hunk with the most toned muscles and gorgeous hair.

Hermione nodded. "Why?"

"You mean," she pointed at the TV with her chin. Her left hand ran through her wavy dark tresses. "They have that sinfully good quality of hair only girls should be entitled to naturally? Without magic?"

"I can relate and sympathize," she answered with a dark look.

As expected, Harry didn't even comment.

Seamus sat down, rearranging his clothes. "Okay, the advertisements were finished. Now for the movies ..."

The bitch was still yapping how cute the guy on the TV was to Parvati. She shushed her, and the next film started. It was nice, really sappy, but I could relate. _'City of Angels'_.

We all had a few rounds of butterbeer, as we were watching _'Titanic'_. That's when the comments had started popping up.

"Ooh, look, Dean, don't you have a trench coat like that?"

"Hey, that guy looks like ..."

I should have been happy that those were the only comments then.

We fast-forwarded through the movie. It's too sappy. And it's the first version, whatever that might mean. They all agreed with me, on the sappy part, I mean.

We managed to keep him under the wraps, as he complained when we changed the tape. We started on another classic. _'Romeo and Juliet'_.

Now, Parvati, Dean, and Lavender had started on the catcalling, too.

Butterbeer seemed spiked or somewhat.

"Blond! Reminds me of Malfoy! And he's cute, too! Who's that Muggle, Herm?"

"You have too many crushes, Lavender. You don't need to add Leonardo di Caprio on the list ..."

"Thanks! Ooh, I love his name ..."

Hermione sighed.

"Star-crossed lovers, my arse! Why couldn't Juliet have black hair and green ..."

"Don't push it, Dean."

"He has gray eyes!"

"What's the deal bout that, Lav? And he hasn't, if you're talking about Romeo."

"From warring families? Malfoy — I mean Potter — oops, Montague and Capulet ... Hm ... rivals from the beginning ..."

A sigh, from Harry and Parvati. "Seamus Finnigan ..."

An indignant protest. "I'm just stating a fact of the matter!" He was abruptly cut off when Romeo and Juliet had a quick fluffy tumble in the sheets. "Waah! They're snogging! I wanna snog too!"

At that, we had welcomed the idea of gagging Seamus, but since the tapes are his, we just kept him tied. Ooh, quirky.

It was midnight then, when we skimmed through the Dracula movie. Seemed like Muggles don't like him that much, since the movie was made ... no idea, and still no remake? Not my problem.

So we went on with the next movie, which Seamus claimed when he could, was educational. After all, this also concern our topic in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Hehehe ... Louis de Pointe du Lac has emerald eyes; that was what he was famous for in their world."

"Shh, Dean, Lestat's coming up!"

"Snog, snog, snog, snog ..." came Seamus's droning mantra. Hushing noises were immediately voiced out. I swear, one more irritant, and I will lose control, go berserk, and hex everything and everyone in sight.

The sound of a quill on parchment made me look up and untangle my fingers from my red locks, before I could successfully gain baldness at such an early age.

It was Harry. And from what I could see from where I sat, which was six inches away from him, he was replying to a note written in an elegant hand I recognized almost immediately. And to my trepidation, he was biting his under lip as he wrote, green eyes glinting with mischief, and a warm flush, no doubt from his carnal inhibitions, suffusing in his cheeks. Hedwig patiently stood near him, the deadly talons squeezing the soft plush cerise couch of the common room.

That was all that I can take.

"I'm going. G'night." I got to my feet and left without another word.

Hermione's voice was suddenly loud in my ears as a Silencing Charm was implemented around us, the others shut out, just as we were to them. "Aren't you going to finish the movie? Or perhaps wait for Harry?"

The last phrase should have sent alarm bells tolling in my head, yet I remained calm and composed, save for the anger that have been eating at my innards since a few days ago. Instead of being suspicious, I chose to be truthful, in a sense. "I don't feel well. I'd better go upstairs." I made a face. "Maybe it's the side effect of the Draught. Creepy feeling of being bound and all ..."

Her eyes softened, and I felt guilty for not telling her the whole story. I think she was about to tell me to go to the infirmary. "Take care, will you?"

I smiled, and it was only half-faked. "Sure. You too. Don't stay up too late."

I turned and made my way to the dormitory room.

The memory of Harry's smile as he scribbled on the parchment burned in my mind as I fought back the tears.  
  
_You're asking for it, Malfoy,_ I thought, even as buried my tear-stained face on the pillow to muffle the sound. _I'll exact my revenge on you. And I'll make sure it will be just what you deserve._

  
Forfeit the game before somebody else  
Takes you out of the frame  
Puts your name to shame  
Cover up your face, you can't run the race  
The pace is too fast you just won't last

Long black hair glimmered in the light rain, its sable strands drinking up the scant moonlight that shone upon it. Gauntleted arms crossed, a figure sat sidesaddle on elegant broomstick hovering outside the dark Astronomy Tower.

Large blank eyes stared forward, at the two teens frolicking as they worked.

The rain was harder now, pelting the uncaring floating form. Thunder boomed and lightning streaked the skies, yet the figure was as still as death. She was safe, devoid of the heat that would forever be her nemesis ...

"Malfoy." A hiss came forth softly, pure unadulterated hatred. Reflected in the uncomprehending orbs, the image of platinum blond hair and cool metallic silver eyes flittered. And as the image was replaced by saccharine sylvan and stifling ebony locks, the closed lips formed a pleased smirk. Yes, her master would be very pleased, indeed.

Satisfied, the figure was about to retreat to the shadows, when a flash of scarlet held her at bay. Red of the flames that consume ... She frowned; burnished vermillion lined the glassy stare. Fire had always brought her defeat, and in time would cause her downfall, but the catalyst emanated thirst of revenge. The weak, pathetic wizardling was hurting. And his hate was directed to the traitors — to the powerful blond _focus subordinate_***, actually — of the ones who turned their backs on her master.

"The perfect tool. A pawn."

The bright yellow liquid resting on her chest vibrated as she continued to observe the forlorn redhead in all his misery.

"We'll see how you'll do."

* * *

Stretched out on top of the velvet green comforter, the Slytherin paused, pondering at the parchment before him, rolling the inked quill in his hands. He glanced at his night table, where his wand informed him that it was exactly 10:11 pm. Rubbing his eyes wearily, he resumed writing the obligatory letter he has to send to his parents every week of his school life.  
  
Blaise bit his lip in consideration. Should he tell his parents about what transpired with Draco a few nights back? Of course he shouldn't. After all, he had promised. And this was Draco Malfoy involved. He wouldn't break his word, on his Slytherin Honor.  
  
However, there was this slight conflict of his 'job': Observe and report every detail that might contain valuable information.  
  
With a last indecisive closing of eyes, he proceeded on writing:  
The Dance Lessons have been finished. Nothing else, at the moment, is worth mentioning.  
  
I will be on constant watch, Father. I can surmise, at the least, that there is a conspiracy going on; certainly, things will come about within the next days. Our classes are constantly being shuffled for no apparent reason. Of course, they give alibis, but even Hufflepuffs can see through them. In a few days time, I will be able to know what is transpiring at this very instant. Also, the Quidditch final between Slytherin House and Gryffindor House draws near, which ... spices things up.

Any relevant information will be relayed to you as soon as possible. I will not fail you.  
Blaise reread his handiwork, and, after three editions, finally settled for the letter which he had just finished. He signed it with a flourish, calling his raven to his side. It ruffled its silky ebony feathers. When he finally finished attaching the roll of parchment on its shielded talon, the bird took off soundlessly, through the open door of the room, (Unfortunately, Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons.) and out of the nearest window to the cool misty night.   


You like to think you're never wrong  
You'll live what you learn  
You have to act like you're someone  
You'll live what you learn  
You want someone to hurt like you  
You'll live what you learn  
You like to share what you've been through  
You'll live what you learn  


Even though it pained me emotionally and mentally, it was (physically) time for our evening Quidditch practice to end. We've booked the field that day, and we had played for the _whole_ day. As usual, it was Gryffindor and Slytherin fighting for the Cup, and if the only way to win was to keep those bullies from practicing (not to say that we need to practice, we just want to keep them from getting hold of the field for that purpose), I'd do it.

So there I was, a few hours after dinner, attempting to piece a star chart for Astronomy. I was lying down on my stomach, on the uneven Quidditch field, waiting for Harry. See, I could be discreet when I chose to (smug grin). Anyway, I had already changed from practice robes to ordinary robes, of course; Harry was still showering. I wanted to be there, by the shower stalls, but I needed to finish my star chart. I didn't think I could work on it while indulging in my hedonistic voyeurism. Hell, look at me, we're practically hundreds of feet away, and it was him I think about, and I couldn't concentrate. What more if he's only two feet away, separated by steam, water and scant sheet of material, also know as the shower curtain ...

Oh, damn. My wandering mind. Never had it ceased or relieved me.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked as she sat beside me, a book propped comfortably on her lap. I answered with a groan. Hermione's a darling; she could have a future as a masseur, but I was still sore. At least, Hermione helped a lot in trying to alleviate it. I remembered her saying about a wonder spell; I declined. I mean, Herm's a genius if no one was, but I'd rather smell like dirty laundry than feel like one ...

Yes, rambling, rambling, it was the best that I could do.

"I've been better." My butt was numb like hell, thanks to that stupid git named Snape. I sat all night and all morning doing the spider detention. Not to mention the effects of the Binding Draught.

Blech! Even just thinking about it made me want to shudder. I almost was sure it immolated my guts when I got a whiff. Well, at least it tasted like water. But the color! Urgh. Deprived pervert taking it out on us, that stupid git. Wait until I graduate ...

Through my peripheral vision, I saw a sandy-blond mop of hair approach. "Hey, Ron," he addressed me, "when are we going to end practice?" He raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me your planning on buffing up your tan, honey, the sun has set an hour ago." When I didn't answer, Seamus brazenly pursued the issue. "You really don't think that you can still get a good tan, do you? I mean ..."

"He's doing his star chart, Seamus," ever-so-helpful Hermione finally came to my rescue. Or not, since she was still unrelenting and would not let me copy her star chart, selfish girl. Damn luck.

"I'm not blind, my dear. My point is why. I mean, here, in the field, in the dark? Why not in the dorm room, or the common room, perhaps? Or in the Gryffindor Tower? The Astronomy Tower, maybe." Seamus blinked thoughtfully, raking his long fingers through his sandy-blond hair. "Hey, that's a rather spiffy idea! Thank you, Ron, mate, you just gave me a fabulous excuse to go to the Astronomy turret!" He grinned cheekily at us, shamrock eyes glinting with barely contained mischief. Of what kind, I didn't need to take a wild guess.

I waved my hand at Seamus, biting my lip in concentration. "Yeah, whatever," I said, halfheartedly. "Just don't get caught. Honestly, haven't you ever thought of the possibility that you may have been blacklisted by that sadistic Squib also known as the caretaker, Argus Filch?"

He shrugged, arching his eyebrows playfully, about to head back to the castle proper. "Adds the spice to consummating my youth, doesn't it?" He blew us a kiss and sauntered away giddily.

Ooookay. I tried to stand up, gingerly. Hermione looked very worried on my part.

"Where are you going?" she asked me, gesturing at the parchment and quill left at the ground, unheeded and unimportant. She reached for me. I didn't exactly brush her hand away, but I grimaced a little, and she let me stand up on my own.

"I need to stretch my legs," I replied. True enough, but not the whole truth. Actually, I just want to check how Harry's doing. You would have thought he's doing something else rather than changing his clothes ... and the thought struck me. What if? I moaned silently, closing my eyes, willing the image to vanish. Paranoia, all just paranoia, it was just my imagination. Yet, if I were right ...

Malfoy has to die. Immediately, at that.

My voice was thick and hollow, not quite my usual timbre and tone. "Would you mind bringing that up the Tower? That is, if you're returning to the castle."

She nodded, lips parted as if to speak. She made a hand gesture indicating that I go on with my exercise and Hermione stood up as well, paraphernalia in hand, wisps of brown hair blown by the wind out of the neat tie. Funny that I've only noticed the ponytail now.

Hearing the last crunch of grass as she went back, I walked.

Towards the cacophonous dark of the Forbidden Forest.

I didn't comprehend what compelled me to go there. I mean, acromantulas? I still remember those creeps ... But there was something that seemed to push me into going there. If I didn't know better, I'd say that I was being coerced.

Hands caressed my neck from the behind, tickling.

I whipped my head around, seeing only the foliage. Were those yellow eyes? No, it must be my imagination. But the voice ... What was _that_?! "What the ...?!"

"Ronald Weasley."

A numb sort of shock went through me. This was a place where magical creatures wander and were in abundance. I could get killed here. And someone who knew me ...

"Who are you?"

"Help," the voice answered, to my left. I turned around to face the speaker.

A vampire? That was my first thought; she looked so pale, so fragile. A porcelain doll. Goosebumps broke over my whole body as the moonlight shone on her fully.

She was — no other word for it — beautiful. Captivating. I could feel myself smile just by looking at her. Long black locks, even a darker shade of sable than Harry's flowed into a straight cascade down her back; it framed her well-proportioned heart-shaped face. She stood as tall as I do. Her long-fingered hands, feminine yet strong, were encased in metal chains. Gauntlets covered her arms, and it was not merely for decoration. She was dressed simply, nothing fancy; linen bandages served as her blouse, a skintight, seamless black material covered the rest of her exposed flesh. Her pants, cleaving, were made of tough dragon-hide, leaving nothing to the imagination, which was not very good.

"Ronald Weasley," she said again. A flash of white teeth.

But the face, the face. It was the one that came as the absolute shock.

Blank, utterly devoid of any semblance of life. Yes, the cheeks were pink, the full lips were ruddy, but with the luster of marble. The eyes were glinting, a shocking violet, yet they were dull, seemingly not capable of intelligence of any kind. How true to a doll.

"Who are you?" I whispered.

A pendulum hung, suspended from a chain in her fingers. A small vial containing a clear liquid that gleamed in the starlight. "I destroy."

I knew I should run. She told me this silently, in my head. I should take refuge, go to my friends, go to Harry.

"I destroy the traitors."

I clutched my heart instinctively. "I don't ... I don't understand ..."

"Voldemort."

Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort. The relative peace of the forest was shattered. It seemed that the creatures were disturbed by the mere name.

"I must kill him." Those startling eyes were trained on me. It was so creepy to be stared at like that. "You must help me, Ronald Weasley. I must kill the traitors. I will help you in return."

"What?" I didn't understand. Help her kill You-Know-Who? Why me?

"Harry Potter. You want Harry Potter. I will give him to you."

"But?" This was insane, impossible. Give Harry to me? "What do I have to do?"

"Eradicate the traitors, Ronald Weasley. Clear the rubble. Kill the Minions of Voldemort. Kill but one of them and I will give you Harry Potter." The swinging vial caught the light in her eyes. "Yes." A hand delved in my mind, reading my thoughts. "Kill Draco Malfoy, the Heir of the Dark Mark."

My head was swimming with the possibilities, with what she was saying to me. "Kill Draco Malfoy? How?"

She did not say anything, merely crossing her arms underneath her breasts. The wind whipped at her, and she stood motionless, the menacing, enchanting statue.

I could not fool myself. I calculated my chances. I told myself NO. Yet I knew that I would do it, even as I deny. I need to, I have to, I will do it. I want to do it.

She walked towards me, the vial still swaying from her forefinger. "Say it, Ronald Weasley. Will you help me?"

I didn't answer.

"To have Harry Potter. To finally have revenge on Draco Malfoy. To be rich and famous for bringing down Voldemort." Her piercing tone went through me. "You hunger for these, do you not? Say it."

"Yes."

She had closed the distance between us. "And I will help you in return." She tilted her head, wrapping an arm around me. I melted like butter in her caress.

I was the one who kissed her.

Warm, so warm, how could I have ever thought these lips were of rosy marble? A burning sensation from our mouths traveled down my throat, simultaneously around my body. It squeezed at my heart, a familiar feeling I couldn't place ...

I shivered, and she let go, stepping back nimbly as I stumbled, crazed by the heat.

A faint twitching of her lips, one I'd recognize as a smile. "If you need to call me anything, call me Spider. Just Spider." She disappeared, melded with the shadows.

And I was left alone.

_But not for long, Ronald Weasley._

"Yes." I smiled, malicious undertone palpable. "Vengeance is sweet, Malfoy." I licked my lips; I could still taste her, feel the exquisite heat on the tip of my tongue. "Sweet."   


To be continued ...

  
Yep, to me, Lavender Brown is the Gryffindor Pansy Parkinson, just as Blaise is the Slytherin Seamus (oooh!). Honestly, I find Parvati forgivably okay. [*] Oh, I just love this line. It's by Malfoy's Girlfriend, a fellow shipper. I don't make any claims to it whatsoever, except that I believe in it. [**] Unfortunately, I don't own these guys. Sigh ... Relevance to the story? None at all ... *lol* [***] _focus subordinate_ — the most powerful supporter, something like that. To tell you guys the truth I'm ... well, this is the longest fic for me, and I'm sorry it took so long, I don't know how to write from Ron's PoV! (being bitter helped a LOT)   
Hello, people! I'm proud to announce that this fic is still alive!!! (throws confetti) I actually thought of forgetting this fic, shriveling up, and just sodding off (while trying to fend off my Muse), but ... sigh ... I don't know. Belated happy birthday, Harry. Everything's your fault. (stick out tongue)  
  
Argh! NO! (Spoiler Alert!) Sirius died in Book 5! I can't believe it ... but there will be a twist there ... I know there will ... (prays fervently ... Remus, what's going to happen to you now?!) Anyway, his "death" would fit in this fic, so ...  
  
Any form of feedback is appreciated, so review, please! 


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